


Valentine's Delay

by BrynTWedge



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declaration of Love, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Mystrade Valentines Calendar 2018, depressing start, drunk conversation, mycroft struggles at the pharmacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 04:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13709811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: Greg is upset he's alone for Valentine's day, and decides to get drunk to drown out the sorrow. Lucky for him, Mycroft is indulging in his secret attraction by watching Greg through the CCTV and comes out to help. Drunk confessions and a confusing morning after ensue.





	Valentine's Delay

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Mottlemoth, Lavenderandvanilla and Theredheadinquestion on Tumblr for the conversation that sparked the idea of Mycroft in the pharmacy. Also thanks to LittleBeeKeeper for the discussion about it.

Greg sighed deeply and let his head hit the table. He managed to summon the strength to get up and drag himself over to the couch where he allowed his body to flop heavily onto the cushion. He was angry with himself for feeling so terrible over a stupid holiday. He groaned. He _loved_ Valentine’s Day. No, correction: he _had_ loved Valentine’s Day. Once. 

For most of his life, particularly before his marriage, he loved it. He enjoyed going out to have a meal with that special someone. He was less overt about things when he’d been with a man, but exciting for him none the less. He loved giving them something little, chocolates or another delight they enjoyed, along with some flowers perhaps. It depended on what money was available at the time, but he just truly loved being able to spoil his other half rotten… and Valentine’s was a day where doing so was celebrated. He didn’t care for the commercialisation of it, he just appreciated that he could treat his partner to something nice and see the joy it brought them. 

Greg closed his eyes and whimpered softly, remembering past dates. Lovely wine, fun conversation, nice food, cuddling, kissing, and a lot of sex. Now… he was alone, in the dark, hopelessly in love with a man who showed no interest in him. He’d often let himself wonder _what if_. It was fairly obvious that Mycroft Holmes was gay, but he just didn’t seem to show interest in him (or people in general). Greg had kept himself in check to make sure that their interactions weren’t awkward; made sure he tried hard to present as casually disinterested, just open to friendship. But god did he want more, so much more, and there wasn’t a way he was going to get it. 

Rubbing his face with his hands, Greg decided that it was well past time to be sober on Valentine’s Day, partner or not. He got up off the couch, still in his ragged work clothes, and scoured the cupboards for alcohol. He was disappointed to find only a single bottle of beer, some dregs of an old bottle of whiskey, and half of a bottle of cheap wine for cooking he couldn’t remember buying. He shrugged, and took all three to the couch. It didn’t matter if they tasted awful, he intended to smoke enough that it all tasted the same anyway. 

He lit a cigarette, and didn’t even care that he was smoking again. He’d tried to quit a few times, but it was the only way to help him cope sometimes when things got tough. He was sure to try and keep it a secret from Sherlock, at least. He decided to start with the beer, and took a deep swig once he’d gotten it open. He put his feet up on the coffee table, and instead of turning on the telly, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He grinned, his eyes still sad, as he scrolled back over the text messages he’d conversed with Mycroft. 

It had initially been just a few calls, some impromptu kidnappings, occasional text messages… all regarding Sherlock. But then they’d started to have coffee meetings, and then dinner meetings, where the topic of conversation quickly passed by Mycroft’s troublesome brother. Greg loved hearing about Mycroft’s day, his likes and dislikes, his grievances with the members of government… all of it. He loved to hear the man’s rolling voice. It gave him tingles when Mycroft would rumble something low, as if what he was said was not to be overheard; it was solely for Greg, a man trusted to know secrets. Greg could tell there weren’t many people in Mycroft’s life whom he trusted, and Greg felt proud to be one of them. He wanted to prove he could be trusted with a lot more than dinner not-dates. 

Greg finished his beer, and then moved on to the whiskey. He drank it from the bottle; it wouldn’t have mattered if it was full or almost empty, he’d have drunk it that way regardless. He just was so _tired_ of it all… work being stressful, hiding his feelings, being disinterested in anything in general. He just wanted to forget it all. Drink himself into oblivion so that he couldn’t even remember being alone and miserable on Valentine’s Day… even if he’d wake up feeling hurt and miserable that the rest of the year’s days were to be the same. He couldn’t drink them all away, but fuck… he was going to try and forget this one. 

~

Mycroft stretched out at his desk. It was late, but he’d had no reason to stay there for hours by this stage. He _could_ do more work, but really, there wasn’t anything that particularly needed doing. He was there as an escape; a place to hide away from the world. He could almost convince himself in his office that he was the detached iceman he projected. Almost. Without the cascade of work spilling across his desk, his mind wandered back to a place he found himself quite often; it was not conducive to his ‘iceman’ persona. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. The man was strikingly handsome; he had soft silver hair and a delectable boyish grin, a muscly body, and a heart of gold. He’d love nothing more than to see with his own eyes what lay beneath the clothing the detective wore… even if it was only once, to revisit in his mind. The man was a distraction on legs, and Mycroft had been thoroughly ensnared. 

The British Government sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. There was next to no-one remaining in the office at this stage: it was fairly late, and most employees were out with their paramours enjoying the evening of St Valentine. Mycroft growled softly to himself, as if scolding himself for wishing to be able to do the same. He’d always secretly loved Valentine’s Day, even if it was only ever met with disappointment. It wasn’t the overt displays of public affection, or the infernal expectations of a partner’s behaviour on this day that made him love it. It was merely just the basic concepts the holiday represented were things he’d always desperately desired: love, care, devotion, a little pampering, and importantly: company. But he was alone. Annoyingly, heart-achingly, alone… as always. 

His mind struck up an idea… he _was_ the British Government, after all. Checking in on Lestrade’s safety was merely a passing concern he was paying, it meant nothing more as far as anyone else was concerned. For Mycroft, it was a chance to spend Valentine’s Day in the company of the man he loved.   
He brought up the cameras in the car park were the DI parked, to check if the car was there or not; it wasn’t often the good Inspector took public transport, and so it was a reasonable indicator of his presence at home. Finding his car in its spot, Mycroft then pulled up the footage of Greg-er, Lestrade’s, living room. He’d had it installed for his safety, of course; associating with Sherlock was dangerous business. Mycroft at least ensured that the people keeping an eye on the DI were discreet. He rarely viewed upon him himself since that seemed to be crossing a line he didn’t want to have to explain should the rare opportunity arise of closer association. He didn’t want Gregory —er, Les… _oh, to hell with it—_ Gregory to break off their friendship, or (dare he think it) the potential for more, because Mycroft had watched the man unbeknownst to him. 

What the screens showed instantly struck worry through Mycroft. His gut lurched uncomfortably. Gregory was sitting in the dark, on his couch, guzzling down a bottle of whiskey. He had already consumed a bottle of beer, and had a half-bottle of something he’d heard called ‘corner-shop piss’ on occasion. It was evident that the man had rounded up every drop of alcohol available to him, and intended to drink it all there on his couch while he smoked. Mycroft had noticed the man smoking more often over the last few months. He’d wanted to ask why, to ask if there was something he could do to help but didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. The Detective Inspector had a right to smoke if he chose. Mycroft just knew he only did so when feeling particularly stressed or depressed… and he wanted to ease that. 

He was faced with an overwhelming urge to go to him. But what would he say? He couldn’t say that he was watching him drink and smoke via a hidden camera, and came by to check if he was ok. He most certainly couldn’t appear on his doorstep and proclaim feeling attracted to him and request a date for the evening, the reason simply being it was Valentine’s Day. He supposed it was better than showing up and just stating ‘I wanna fuck you, you handsome beast’, but perhaps only marginally. No… it would be a lot worse, he decided, because he didn’t want just a sexual encounter. He wanted love. He wanted romance, care, affection… he wanted to be there to support Gregory, and have that returned. He desperately wanted to be the most important person in someone else’s life for who he is, _not_ his political position (or heaven forbid, monetary reasons). Everyone in his life only seemed to care about what he could do, not who he was inside. Everyone except Gregory, that is. 

Mycroft audibly scoffed at himself for thinking such drivel, but he didn’t deny it being true. It was his mind that told him to be above such things, which declared that all romantic feelings or self-worth beyond his intelligence and status were ridiculous and unreasonable. His heart argued, but with a wave of sorrow instead of a fight. He found himself visibly slumped at his desk, sharing in the Inspector’s depression without the man even knowing it.   
_Longing_. That’s what he managed to work out the feeling was. A deep longing for love given by that wonderful human being on his screen. Mycroft averted his eyes. He wouldn’t be wanted, even if he did attempt an advance. 

~

Greg drained the remaining drops from the wine bottle. It had tasted like hand soap, but he didn’t care. He was on his third cigarette, and he didn’t care about that either. The alcohol was leaving him feeling buzzed and tipsy, but it was not enough to block out any of his emotions. He could still sit upright perfectly fine, and until he couldn’t do that, it wasn’t enough.   
He decided to go and get more. To hell with it, he thought - why _shouldn’t_ he go out and buy more? There was no one there to stop him, and if there was… well, he wouldn’t be needing the alcohol, would he? He could be a miserable old bastard if he wanted to be.   
He grabbed his keys, shaking his head as he realised he was fine to walk. He knew he couldn’t drive, but it didn’t matter. There was an off-license only a ten minute walk away. The cold night air would be nice, he thought. He slid his wallet into his pocket and left the flat. 

The walk was fairly easy, provided he didn’t look about too much. He was in a fairly residential area, but still, there were people walking the streets hand-in-hand. He didn’t want to inadvertently scowl at them. He turned down another street, and then another, and found himself in the small local shopping district. The shop was still open, thankfully closing at ten on Fridays. He walked in, nodded at the cashier, and made his way over to the hard liquor. He wanted to get drunk off his skull, but didn’t want to die doing so, and so steered clear of the cheap vodka. He didn’t like the stuff. He elected instead for a low-end, but not the cheapest, bottle of scotch. He made the purchase; the cashier was clued-on enough to not risk wishing him a ‘happy Valentine’s day’. 

As he made his way back to home, feeling a lot more unsteady on his feet than he had before entering the store, he noticed the park. He didn’t know why, but he just felt like being out of the flat. With the alcohol impairing his judgement, he turned and walked along the path into the small park, and found himself a bench somewhat in the middle near a lamp. He opened the bottle he was clutching, and took a large gulp.   
_Fuck my life._

~

Mycroft had let his eyes flicker back to the screens to see the tail end of the Inspector leaving in his trench coat. He furrowed his brow… surely he wasn’t going to go out on a call inebriated? No, that seemed highly unlikely, as the Detective Inspector regarded his job with care and respect. He wouldn’t jeopardise his position like that. The next logical conclusion was that he was headed out to purchase more alcohol, and possibly cigarettes. This worried Mycroft further. At least if he were to ‘run into’ Gregory on the street, it could be passed off as an accidental meeting: particularly if Gregory was inebriated and not thinking at peak efficiency. 

He quickly located Gregory, and so Mycroft stood and left his office. He didn’t care how he was going to explain it, he just knew he had to be there to care for Gregory. Maybe let him know that, if nothing else, he had a friend in Mycroft. He wasn’t entirely alone. 

The driver pulled up to the edge of the park, and Mycroft instructed him to wait there. He wasn’t sure how long he was going to be. He was glad he had his large wool coat, as the night air was fairly nippy. He adjusted it slightly as he took his umbrella in hand and began to stroll along the path that Gregory had last been seen.   
It didn’t take long for Mycroft to spot him: he was sitting alone on a park bench, beneath the dreary light of a lamp. He approached quietly, and noticed another person approaching him. Mycroft tensed, ready to run to Gregory’s aid if needed. Another few moments of observation served to relieve Mycroft of his panic of threat, as the other person was just a passer-by crossing the park. He watched as Gregory noticed them, shuffled and pulled out what appeared to be a badge, and presented it to them.   
“’S alrigh’, Officer,” Greg slurred, “I’m a cop too, see? Don’ worry, I can ‘rest myself la’er.” 

Greg’s words shot worry into Mycroft’s gut. He was quite out of it. The uncomfortable woman continued to walk, noticeably quicker, and struggling to avoid looking directly at the man talking to her. Mycroft approached, and seated himself beside the Inspector.   
“Good evening, Detective Inspector.” Mycroft announced formally, looking at Gregory. He looked unwell; he was pale, drawn, unshaven, dishevelled, and shaking slightly.   
“Heeeey.” Greg responded with a lopsided grin. He made to take another gulp of liquid, but Mycroft quickly raised his gloved hand and grabbed the bottle.   
“No, Gregory. You have had enough. You’re dangerously intoxicated as it is.” Mycroft explained and tugged at the bottle.   
“Oh… ‘course, how rude ‘o me, yeah… go ‘head, have some.” Greg said, releasing his grip on the scotch. Mycroft frowned and put it on the ground beside him.   
“What’s wrong, Greg?” Mycroft uttered to break the silence. Greg turned to look at him with a sad expression, and sighed.   
“’S Valemtine’s day, innit?” Greg said, waving his hand out into the darkness.   
“Indeed,” Mycroft stated, “But why does that mean you wished to drink yourself into a stupor?”   
“Oh, heh. Just wanted ta forget, I guess. ‘M miserable ‘nough as it is, don’ need ta be reminded o’ bein’ alone as well, too.”   
“Your divorce, you mean?” Mycroft inquired. He knew the divorce had shaken the man quite a lot, and left him rather depressed in general. Not that Mycroft could have listed him as being particularly happy beforehand, however.  
“No. She was awful ta me. Don’ miss ‘er, at all. Just… hate bein’ all’lone.” Greg slumped forward and put a hand over his face as he began to cry. “I don’ wanna be alone…”   
“You’re not alone, Greg… you have friends.” Mycroft tried to support. He reached out and put his hand on the man’s back. He wanted to say: _you have me_ , but he couldn’t let his own desires get in the way of his care for Gregory when the man needed him.   
“’S not the same. I … I wan’ someone ta spoil on days like these. I wanna cuddle together, wake up with ‘im, have it be every day afterwards too…” Greg muttered despairingly, sniffling away the last of his tears and sitting upright.   
Mycroft’s eyebrows shot into the air. “Him?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I thought…”  
“I don’ really give a toss ‘bout that. It’s the person, ain’t it? That’s what ya love, not their bits. Well I love bits too, yeah…”  
“Yet you would prefer a man, in your scenario?” Mycroft asked, hating himself for how hopeful his tone of voice was. Greg sniffled again, and leaned his elbows on his knees.   
“Gen’ry yeah, I like the blokes more… but there’s just this one guy. Fuck, I’m … I want ‘im. He’s fuckin’ gorgeous. I just wanna snog ‘im ev’ry time I see ‘im, but I can’, can I?” Greg moaned sombrely.   
“Why not?” Mycroft asked, tilting his head. “Surely you could ask? You’re… very attractive, you know.” Mycroft said, clearing his throat. He was glad that Gregory was undoubtedly too inebriated to be able to remember this conversation.   
“Cause he don’ show me any interest, tha’s why. I’ve had ta just pretend I don’t wanna shag ‘im senseless, cause he just don’ want that.”  
“Straight?”  
“Nah, I reckon he’s to’ally gay, actually. But ‘e just don’ go fa people, ’n I’m just some rough cop… prob’ly not ‘is type. I liked ‘im back when I was married even… I’d never o’ done anything, ‘course, but god did I think ‘bout it. Was almost relieved when she left… she’d been bloody awful, ’n I ‘ad a chance then with…”  
“Yes? With whom?” Mycroft asked, inquisitive. Gregory was rarely this forthcoming, and while Mycroft felt a little like it was unfair to ask him such personal questions in this state, he believed it was helping the man process his emotions that had led him to this point.   
“I… I can’ say.” Greg mumbled. “He could find out.”  
“Gregory, I think you should tell him, at least… it’s clearly eating you up inside. I don’t like seeing you this way.” Mycroft hummed, desperately wanting to place a hand on the Detective’s knee, wrap him up in a hug, or god forbid, kiss his forehead. He ached to just ease some of the emotional turmoil. It hurt him to think that the man he… possibly loved… was rather infatuated with someone else. He was also now deathly afraid that if he pushed for a name, he was about to hear his brother’s.   
_Please, just anyone but Sherlock…_

“Ya think so? What if it makes it awkward? What if ‘e doesn’t want ta know me after?”  
“And what if he reciprocates?” Mycroft commented. He wanted Greg to be happy above all else.   
“Yeah… you’re right. Ha! Ya fuckin’ right! I’m gonna text ‘im righ’ now…” Greg said, fumbling to get his phone out of his pocket. Mycroft grasped his hand, conflicted.   
“I’m not certain now might be the best time.”  
“I might not be able ta get the guts later.” Greg said, still not really looking at Mycroft.   
“Very well. But please tell me who it is.” Mycroft said, releasing Gregory’s arm. He wanted to know just in case he needed to run some ‘interference’ for Gregory’s wellbeing.   
“Alright, alright… but don’t tell him…” Greg said, sinking lower and dropping his voice, “It’s Mycroft Holmes.” 

Mycroft was stunned. Surely he hadn’t just heard that. His brain was so taken with the information, that he just sat there, blinking, as Greg typed away. Firstly: Greg _liked_ him? Secondly: Greg told him, as if he didn’t realise that it was he, himself, sitting there on the bench with him. The first thought caused his heart to leap and dance about his ribcage. The second made his stomach contract uncomfortably in concern.   
“Gregory… do you know who I am?” Mycroft asked, warily. He heard his phone buzz.   
“Huh?”  
“Gregory, look at me.” Mycroft commanded. He received another text before Greg looked at him. His gaze was unfocused, and he was swaying from side to side. There seemed to be some comprehension in his face, but not enough to calm the worry eating away at Mycroft. “Do you recognise me?”   
“Come off it, Myc… ‘course I do. You’re the most fuckin’ gorgeous man there is.” Greg grumbled, returning to his phone.   
“Ok, good,” Mycroft said slowly with patience, “So you are aware that you are texting me whilst you are seated next to me, after having told me you don’t want me to tell myself that you like me?”   
“Er… I guess.” Greg uttered, fumbling at his phone again. 

He seemed well past logic. Mycroft decided that he’d take him back to his flat and stay the night, just to watch over him.   
“Ok, come on Greg. Time to go home.” Mycroft said, standing, and reaching down to pick Gregory up off the bench. He was definitely going to need assistance getting to the car. “Jesus Greg, you’re freezing.” Mycroft exclaimed upon touching the man’s skin. No wonder he was shaking. With some awkward shuffles, Mycroft managed to help Gregory walk back to Mycroft’s car, where his driver quickly got out and helped to get Greg into the back seat. 

~

Greg came to consciousness with a thud, one that he could only assume was the sledgehammer hitting his head. He groaned, and hissed at the sound his own voice made. Not much came back to him… he knew he had been particularly depressed, and decided to drink… he went out go to get more alcohol… and then it all got fuzzy. He wrenched his eyes open, noting that it was light in the bedroom despite the curtains being drawn.   
_What time is it?_

There wasn’t anything he needed to do today, but he was still curious how long he’d slept in. He reached over for his phone on his bedside table, and stopped dead. He could remember texting the night before. Greg swallowed. He couldn’t remember what he said, but he could remember that Mycroft was involved somehow.   
“Oh shit…” Greg uttered, his head throbbing as he grasped his phone to inspect the damage. He hoped to god he hadn’t embarrassed himself last night, but given how bad his hangover was and how little he remembered, Greg could assume fairly confidently that ‘embarrassed’ would be an understatement.   
He opened his phone and saw that it still showed his text conversation with Mycroft. He scrolled back to the last one he remembered sending before facing the words sent. He then began to read.   
“Fuck…” Greg groaned as he stared at his phone, reading the first message. The next wasn’t much better. And then it just got… horrifying. 

  * **Hey i thnkn galciers are prety so ifyr madeo f ice im good with tht**
  * ******Stupd valmentines day, wana be with whoo ilove to, you know?**
  * ******I like yuor eyes, so spressive. N that ahir with the curl why you flat it?**
  * ******Wanna run my fngers throuhg it**
  * ******you right, i fkn love you, ya kno? Is harx ti loko at you withut wntin to snog the hrll outa u.**
  * ******Why uyo so not interested… if oly it be me cause I wnat you.**
  * ******Kss me. pleas.**



**** _Fuck fuck fuck… I’ve just ruined my friendship with him!  
_ Greg grabbed his face in his hands and screamed. He didn’t care if the noise hurt his head, he felt like he should be in pain for what he’d done. The man of his dreams likely wasn’t ever going to talk to him after today… it was the worst Valentine’s Day he’d ever had. His head pounded like someone was walking on his brain with heavy shoes. They really did sound like footsteps, though…   
“Gregory, are you alright?”  
Greg froze. There was someone standing in the doorway. No, not ‘someone’… Mycroft. Greg slowly moved his hands away from his face to see the striking form of Mycroft Holmes standing in his doorway. He looked a little dishevelled, as if he’d spent the night on the couch. That single curl that teased Greg’s dreams had broken free of its binds and was proudly draped across the pale, freckled forehead.   
“Gregory?” Mycroft asked again, his face pinching in concern. He walked forward and placed the glass of water that he was holding onto the bedside table, and then sat on the bed beside the still-stunned Gregory.   
“What are you doing here?” Greg asked, squinting.   
“It’s unsurprising you don’t remember, you had drunk quite a lot. I was tempted to take you in to the hospital and get you an IV drip, however I had rather hoped this headache would serve as a warning to prevent you doing this again in future.” Mycroft explained.   
“No… what are you doing here?” Greg asked again, groaning softly. Had Mycroft gotten his texts and been concerned for him? Had he come out to help before scolding him and never returning?   
“I was… worried for you. I decided to spend the night to help care for you.”   
“How did…?” Greg began, but groaned again before he could finish. He didn’t want to hear it be said.   
“The surveillance of you indicated a variance from your usual behaviour, and so I went to see what was wrong.” Mycroft answered ambiguously. He wanted to tell the truth, but not upset the Detective Inspector too much. He hoped that the splitting headache was preventing any anger surfacing from being watched.   
“So you… _haven’t_ … checked your phone yet?” Greg asked slowly.   
Mycroft raised his eyebrows and and cleared his throat. “No, actually, I had quite forgotten about it given the circumstances.” He said whilst pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

Greg’s eyes blew wide. There was still a chance to prevent disaster. Greg took it. He leapt forward and grabbed Mycroft’s phone, causing his body to collide with the other man’s. Mycroft didn’t relinquish his hold of his device despite the shock of Greg’s sudden movement. The force caused him to topple backwards onto the floor with a painful thud, Gregory landing on top of him. Greg wrestled with him still, pulling the phone out of Mycroft’s grasp. He sat on Mycroft’s hips, triumphantly holding the phone in one hand and wearing a grin on his face. Mycroft gazed up at him, trying to hold back the blush breaking out across his face at being in such a position.   
“Gregory, need I remind you that you won’t be able to _access_ the phone despite now possessing it.” Mycroft stated playfully. He waited for a quip in return, however instead he noticed Gregory’s smile drop, his brows furrow, and his body slump. Mycroft expertly wriggled his way out from underneath Gregory, quickly grabbing the bucket he’d left beside the bed and shoving it under Greg’s nose. Greg grasped it, closing his eyes and breathing steadily to will the nausea away. After a few moments, Greg sighed and put the bucket down. “Phew, that was close… don’t want you to have to see that.”   
“Once more would not have made a difference.” Mycroft commented casually.   
Greg’s blood froze and the colour drained from his face. “W-what?”  
“You were vomiting quite a lot throughout the night, as one does with alcohol poisoning.”   
“Shit, Myc, I’m so sorry…”  
“It’s quite alright. Whilst it was not an ideal Valentine’s date, I did still get to be in your company and care for you.” Mycroft commented with a sly grin.   
“You… you said you didn’t read the texts…” Greg strangled out, sitting on the floor in amazement. It sounded like Mycroft knew what Greg had drunkenly texted, and was taking the piss out of him,but he couldn’t help but think it was more… _did Mycroft just imply he wanted to spent a Valentine’s date with me?  
_ “No.”  
“Then how did you know I wanted…?”  
“Gregory, I was sitting beside you whilst you sent them.” Mycroft stated with amusement.   
Greg groaned and let himself fall backwards onto the hard floor. “Arg, shit, I’m sorry.” He covered his face with the crook of his elbow. “Fuck, I’m an idiot. You don’t have to stick around any more, I can take care of myself now… I know you’ll not want to see me again after today, and I get that, but…”  
“Why on Earth would you think that?” Mycroft chuckled, interrupting Greg. “Come on, you’re in enough pain without laying on the hard floor. Up you get.”   
Mycroft stood and reached out his hand for Gregory to take, and then pulled him up onto the bed. They sat side by side, Mycroft looking at Gregory, and Greg staring at the floor. He didn’t answer, but instead handed the phone back to Mycroft. Mycroft tilted his head slightly as he took it, amused at how ashamed Gregory looked. Silly man.   
“Before you read it… I… I wish I handled it better. I was just… oh fuck it, there’s nothing I can say to make it alright again. I’m sorry, I really am Myc… I hope that one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”Greg said, trying to hide how his soul was being crushed into dust. He stared at Mycroft, who had said nothing in lieu for just nodding and opening his phone. Greg’s heart was pounding as he tried to read the expression on Mycroft’s face, but the man was as stoic as ever.   
Mycroft read the final text, warmth spreading out through his chest. Not once this morning had Gregory made an attempt to deny his feelings, to try and argue it was a misunderstanding, or in any way try to hide that he was genuine in his affections… he was only apologetic for the way it had been conveyed. Mycroft was ecstatic… everything he wanted was actually within his grasp. It wasn’t just a cry out for _anyone_ while drunk. He looked into Gregory’s worried chocolate eyes, smiled, and went for it. He leant in and pressed his lips to Gregory’s.   
Greg was again shocked; once his brain restarted, he realised that Mycroft was kissing him. Actually, honestly, kissing him. Greg hummed and began to kiss him back, shifting to face him better. The kiss ended, and Greg briefly saw the flushed cheeks of Mycroft before he dived back in and kissed him again, gently cupping his cheek with his hand. Greg’s whole body buzzed in excitement, so much that his hangover disappeared. All there was in that moment was the soft, wet lips belonging to Mycroft Holmes pressed up against his own.   
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Mycroft breathed, his nose brushing against Gregory’s cheek.   
“Why the fuck did you wait?” Greg asked in jest, kissing Myc again.   
“You were married.” Mycroft chuckled, his lips still millimetres from Gregory’s. “I wasn’t about to make a pass at a married man.”  
“I haven’t been married in almost a year…”   
“I didn’t want to push; you didn’t seem interested… I wasn’t sure if you liked men or not, either.”  
“Jesus, I thought the same of you… well, about you not being interested. It’s plain as day that you like men.” Greg laughed.   
“I guess we’re both idiots then.” Mycroft said, grinning, moving in to nuzzle Gregory’s neck.   
“Oh, yes, there…” Greg moaned, tingles spreading out over his body at the feel of Mycroft’s breath on the skin under his ear. “How I didn’t make a pass at you last night, I’ll never know…”   
“Oh, you did. Numerous times.” Mycroft chuckled, kissing the tender flesh.   
“You,” Greg breathed, “We didn’t…?”  
“Gregory,” Mycroft said sternly, sitting upright and looking directly into the man’s eyes, “Do you honestly believe I would take advantage of you whilst you were drunk? I refused you each time, much to my personal disappointment, telling you we would discuss it in the morning.”   
“No, no… sorry. Of course not. I just would like to remember our first time.” Greg said, his face flushing red and looking away. “So it is morning,” Greg continued, “Do you want to discuss it?” 

Mycroft suddenly felt panicky. It was all well and good to gain the courage for a kiss, but an actual conversation about it seemed to be a lot more serious. Gregory seemed to notice the tension, and reached out and grabbed his hand.   
“I would very much like to take you to dinner.” Greg said with a smile.   
“I would like that.” Mycroft said, smiling in return.   
“I would also like to keep kissing you, until then, if I could?” Greg asked, tugging Mycroft closer.   
“That’s a lot of kissing.” Mycroft breathed, his nose pressing up against Gregory’s, eyes fixed on the man’s lips.   
“We could do other things too, if you’re up for it…” Greg suggested lustfully, and gave a final tug to kiss Mycroft. “But only if you’re ok with it. Don’t want to move too fast.” Greg uttered while running his hands up Mycroft’s back.   
“Well we could see, perhaps.” Mycroft responded. He was uncertain; it wasn’t a question of desire, but rather he was worried about making a mistake. He wanted to have something lasting with Gregory, and didn’t want it all to happen in a bang and leave him just as suddenly. Gregory nodded at him, grabbed his tie, and leaned backwards. Mycroft was pulled down such that he was leaning on Gregory’s bare chest.   
“Gah, that wasn’t a good idea…” Greg groaned, his head spinning.   
“Take it easy, Gregory…” Mycroft said quietly, and made to sit up. Firm hands grabbed him in protest. Mycroft looked questioningly into Gregory’s eyes, but received just a boyish grin in return.   
“Don’t go now that I’m down here.” Greg said, and kissed him again. He couldn’t get enough of it; Mycroft was warm and soft, his kisses were tentative and tender, and they filled up the empty cavern inside of his chest. Greg heard Mycroft hum in agreement, and shuffled so that he was properly laying on top of Greg’s body. Greg couldn’t resist running his hands up Mycroft’s sides and gripping him firmly around his back whilst they kissed, pulling the man closer still.   
Mycroft suddenly felt a little restricted in his three-piece. Gregory’s hands were running over his back and it felt amazing just to be touched that little through so much fabric. He yearned to know what it felt like with less, or even none at all. Mycroft’s heart jumped when he felt the gentle push of Gregory’s tongue against his lips. He parted them, permitting access, glad that he’d had the sense to help the man brush his teeth before getting him into bed the last time. Gregory’s tongue slide over his, and the feel of the wet muscle unnerved him slightly. He hadn’t been kissed like that before, and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. He was excited enough to be _actually_ kissing Gregory that he didn’t mind it, per se, but the feeling was strange none the less.   
Greg broke his kissed and nuzzled Mycroft gently. “You don’t enjoy that much, gorgeous?” Greg asked softly.   
“I… I hadn’t ever experienced it before. It is a strange feeling, I’m not sure…” Mycroft awkwardly responded.   
“That’s fine, you don’t have to… I want you to be comfortable.” Greg mumbled, and began to kiss Mycroft’s neck. “We have plenty of time for you to experience it so you know either way.”   
Mycroft let out a gentle moan as Gregory moved up to licked at his earlobe. That was also a new experience, but he instantly knew he loved it. “Mmmmm…” Mycroft hummed, earning himself a gentle nibble.   
“Seems you really like that… this is going to be fun, exploring you all morning.” Greg mused, and slowly moved to put his tongue in Mycroft’s ear. Mycroft gasped, and moaned loudly.   
“I’d never considered…” Mycroft breathed, shocked by how enjoyable the sensation of Gregory’s tongue upon and inside his ear was.   
“Some people don’t think it’s nice until they try it.” Greg teased, his breath hot in Mycroft’s ear. “You strike me as someone liking it gentle, slow… tender. Do you like it rough, too?” Greg whispered.   
Mycroft choked briefly at Gregory’s words. He… he didn’t know. He did like it tender, yes, but he’d never really been with anyone to show him that kind of affection. His encounters were usually emotionally void, serving the sole purpose of relieving built-up sexual desires. “I don’t know, I’m not that… experienced.” Mycroft muttered. He awaited the condemnation to pour out upon him. Instead, he received a lustful chuckle.   
“Oh, so we’ll _both_ be having fun finding out what you like.” Greg said. He ran his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, paying special attention to the adorable curl. “You can find out what I like, too… don’t be afraid to try something.” He said whilst nuzzling Mycroft’s nose.   
“You’re not going to tell me?”  
“I’ll tell you some things, or if you’re doing something I like… but there’s fun to be had in exploring, you know?”  
“I… I don’t know, sorry.” Mycroft muttered, turning away. Gregory took the opportunity to lick up the other side of Mycroft’s neck and kiss his other earlobe.   
“No need to be sorry, just telling you that you’re allowed to take some risks. If I don’t like it, I’ll just tell you. No judgement.” Greg spoke kindly. “Just enjoy the moment; go with what you feel.”   
“I… I am very much enjoying this, but I don’t think I want to go further just yet…” Mycroft muttered, blushing.   
“Hehe, that’s fine, I don’t have any supplies around anyway… so this is just fine for now.” Greg chuckled. 

Mycroft quite enjoyed the kissing on the bed. Gregory had rid him of his jacket; it was wonderful to feel the man’s hands run up his back with nothing but the thin silk and cotton separating them from his skin. Gregory had continued to kiss, lick, and nibble at Mycroft’s neck and ears, much to Mycroft’s delight. Mycroft found he really enjoyed running his fingers through Gregory’s silver hair; and judging from the noises made, so did Gregory. Mycroft was still hesitant, but slowly found the courage to nuzzle at Gregory’s neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and even a soft bite. The latter had produced _quite_ a reaction; Mycroft tried it again, lower down, and Gregory growled in pleasure. The sound sent shivers down Mycroft’s spine and made his cock throb. 

Greg was glad Mycroft was getting more comfortable exploring. He could feel the man’s erection pressing up against his own through his trousers, and wanted nothing more than to grasp Mycroft’s firm buttocks and grind up against him. He, however, restrained himself like a gentleman. Mycroft said he wasn’t ready, and Greg was going to obey; he wanted Mycroft to feel comfortable and safe at all times. Greg loved the feel of Mycroft’s body on him, but could tell Mycroft was holding himself up more than he should; his arms had started to tremble slightly, and the pressure was gradually increasing along the length of his torso. Greg could understand Mycroft wanting to keep some distance down lower, as it was all still new for him and the urges from hard friction might make him do things he’d later regret. 

Deciding to rectify the situation, Greg shuffled and moved in one quick motion to flip their positions. He instantly regretted it. Nausea exploded in his brain, causing his stomach to lurch. Greg groaned and had to put his hand up to his mouth to instil into his mind that vomiting was NOT and option right now. He drew in deep, rapid breaths through his nose as he sat upright on Mycroft’s thighs.   
“Gregory?” Mycroft asked in concern. He wasn’t sure what to do to help, but he knew he really wanted to. Gregory just raised his other hand up at him as he took control of himself again. He slid the hand that was covering his mouth up to his head, and exhaled deeply.   
“Oh god, I’d forgotten about the hangover.” Greg mumbled.   
“How?” Mycroft asked, genuinely curious. Surely someone with that much of a headache couldn’t just forget.   
“Just too excited about other things, I guess. Endorphins and stuff.” Greg said, opening his eyes to give a pained smile to Mycroft. “Sorry, love.” Greg said, and then instantly went tense as he realised the slip of tongue.   
“It’s quite alright. Why don’t I get you something for the pain?”  
“That’d… yeah, I’d really appreciate that.” Greg said whilst lowering himself slowly back onto the bed. The world was spinning around him and he didn’t think he could sit upright much longer.   
“Where do you keep your painkillers?”  
“Um, kitchen cupboard above the stove.” Greg grumbled, clenching his eyes shut again. He felt Mycroft press a kiss to his forehead before the mattress moved. 

Mycroft easily found the box of paracetamol, but it was all that was of use in the first-aid section of Gregory’s kitchen. He returned to the bedroom with the box in hand, opened it to take out two pills, and discovered it was full of empty strips.   
“Gregory, you have none left. Why would you keep an empty box?” Mycroft questioned.   
“Buggered if I know. Damn, I was actually really wanting some…” Greg sighed.   
Mycroft looked at him, his brows furrowed. He had just felt an intense, overwhelming feeling of affection for Gregory whilst they kissed, and now all of that care was directing him to go out and buy something to ease the man’s suffering. “I will go to the pharmacy and get something for you.”   
“You… you will? Oh my god Myc, you’re a lifesaver.” Greg exclaimed. He didn’t even care if he should have protested against the idea… he just wanted the pounding in his head to subside.   
“I…” Mycroft began, unsure how to respond. “I shall be back shortly,” he concluded.   
“Thank you. Seriously. I promise it’ll be better by the time we finish dinner, don’t worry.” Gregory said, a tone of hope in his voice. Mycroft’s chest expanded with the implication, and suddenly found himself rather excited for it. 

~

The pharmacy hadn’t been that far away. He briefly had considered asking Anthea to collect the items for him, but he felt like it would mean more to Gregory if Mycroft had gone and gotten the medicine himself. He had easily found a box of paracetamol for Gregory’s headache; he also decided to pick up some Alka Seltzer, just in case Gregory found that also helpful. Mycroft walked back along the aisle, and then stopped mid-way. He didn’t move, just eyed the shelves with his peripheral vision. Gregory had mentioned he didn’t have ‘supplies’, and Mycroft was not about to do anything without those… supplies. In general, Mycroft always wanted to be prepared for any eventuality. The possibility of sex after dinner was rather high, given how excited he’d become from just the kissing earlier on. He didn’t want to have an awkward conversation or even a dismissal because there wasn’t any… equipment.   
He moved his head to look at the shelves, stocked full of an assortment of products. He was instantly overwhelmed by the variety presented to him. He swallowed nervously, his heart pounding and his mind racing.   
_Do I get some? Would that be seen as presumptuous? But what if we want to take that step tonight? I don’t want to decline, I don’t want him to think I don’t trust him or don’t want him; I don’t want … any complications. Having to stop and go out and get them could ruin the mood. It’s certainly more convenient to get them now. But what if he gets upset thinking I’m taking it too fast? What if he sees them and jumps to conclusions? Or thinks me hypocritical given my comment just before? I… I’ll just hide them when I get there. Yes, that should be alright. He’d probably appreciate the initiative if it’s required, and be none the wiser otherwise._

_Now… what on Earth do I get? What does Gregory like? What is even the difference? There are sizes? God, would getting the small ones be offensive? Would getting the large ones be ineffective? What scale are they even measured in? Would it be seen as too ambitious to get a large pack? What if I get too small a pack and he thinks I’m not that interested? Gracious… flavoured? Is that better for… that? Should I get flavoured? What if Gregory thinks I’m an idiot for getting the wrong things? I could get two kinds, but what if then I’m getting too many? Surely the difference in thickness of the latex would not matter that much… or what if Gregory has a latex allergy? Surely I would know already if he had._

“Gahhhhh why is this so hard? They were always just ‘there’, I had no idea it was this difficult!” Mycroft snapped to himself, trying to push the panic deep down. He never had to think of this in his previous encounters… that side of it was always just ‘taken care of’, and he’d not asked questions. He wasn’t willing to do anything sans-protection without seeing the paperwork before him of Gregory’s test results, and showing Gregory his. It was just safe, not demanding. Mycroft peered closer, examining the packages. He was trying hard to keep his mind under control and focus on breathing regularly. Could he just buy one of each and avoid making the decision?   
“Can I help you with something?”   
Mycroft jumped out of his skin at the female voice suddenly at his side. “Lord NO!” Mycroft exclaimed in shock. His face was scarlet and he was doing his best to fight the urge to fun fast and far. The sales assistant looked a little startled from his reaction, but just smiled and nodded. She left without another word. Mycroft watched her go, and the moment she was out of eyeshot he let himself gasp in air.   
_No, don’t have a panic attack in the pharmacy. Ironically there’s probably something here to help in that regard. Breathe. It’s perfectly normal for men to buy these, she doesn’t know you, everything is alright.  
_ Mycroft sorely wanted to just flee the store and try again in another one, but that would mean twice the amount of people he’d have to interact with.   
_Oh dear god… how am I going to buy these? How am I supposed to walk up to the counter and hand them to the cashier?  
_ Mycroft just wanted to get it over with. He took a breath and drew in the strength he used when facing difficult diplomatic situations. He selected a box with his calm demeanour intact. He then moved on to the items stacked beside the condoms: lube.  
_How can it possibly just as difficult? Why are there even so many kinds? Numbing? Stimulating? Seriously? And the question of size returns: how much do I get? Generally a lot is needed for… yes, but too much could give the wrong idea again.  
_ Before the sales assistant could return and pester him again, Mycroft selected a medium-sized tube of water-based lubricant. He didn’t understand the necessity to label it as ‘personal’, but he tried hard to not look at the items as he carried them to the counter. 

~

Mycroft returned back to Gregory’s flat with a bag in hand. He had expected Gregory to be still in bed, but instead was met with him standing at the counter. Mycroft froze; he’d be unable to hide the contents of his bag.   
“There you are… you took a while, I thought I’d grab some toast.” Greg commented with a smile.   
“I had expected you to remain in bed.” Mycroft said, feeling the heat radiating from his cheeks.   
“Don’t worry gorgeous, we can keep kissing if you like. You don’t have to be embarrassed about wanting that.” Greg said warmly, noticing the flush of Mycroft’s face and his avoidant demeanour.   
“I… that’d be nice, yes.” Mycroft decided to say, and walked up to the bench. There was no way to hide what he’d bought now, as Gregory was filling up his glass expectantly. Mycroft cleared his throat as he placed the bag on the counter. He’d face the outcome head on, like he did with most things. He stood stiffly as he pulled out the paracetamol and Alka Seltzer from the bag.   
“Oh… my hero.” Greg moaned, pulling out two of the paracetamol pills and swallowing them. He then popped one of the Alka Seltzer tablets into the glass. It fizzed violently, filling the silence. Greg then noticed that the bag wasn’t empty. He reached in and pulled out the remaining two items. He glanced up at Mycroft, who was ramrod-straight and looked like he was getting ready to bolt. Greg’s heart lurched… the poor man. “Ah, brilliant. Good thinking.” Greg said warmly, smiling broadly up at Mycroft. He could visibly see the tension leave the man’s body.   
“You… it’s alright?”  
“Of course… I’m glad you took the initiative! Well, I suppose you _are_ a genius after all, I guess I’ll have to get used to it.” Greg chuckled, and took a large swig of his drink.   
“So, er, the items are acceptable? I wasn’t sure, and there was a great variety to choose from.”  
“Yeah, these are perfect. Don’t worry, Myc. I’m not about to be offended that you’re prepared… I’m rather happy you did, actually. I was wondering how I was going to discreetly go shopping between now and our date tonight. I like to be a bit prepared too, you know.” Greg spoke with a sly grin. 

Mycroft almost felt dizzy with the relief flooding his veins. Gregory had taken it well, and even wanted to do the same. He was overwhelmed with joy, and wanted nothing more than to just embrace the man in a hug. His muscles jerked of their own accord, as if trying to resist his brain telling them that he couldn’t just grab Gregory and hug him. Gregory noticed it, however, and raised his eyebrow at him.   
“What is it, Myc?” Greg asked sincerely.   
“I… I… I would like a hug.” Mycroft uttered quietly, and Greg almost leapt over the counter to embrace him. He sounded so vulnerable, looked so small, asking for that little gesture of comfort. He wanted to hold him and never let go.   
“Never, ever, feel bad about wanting that. You don’t have to ask, you can just come up and hug me anytime. And if you’re feeling upset, you can ask me to hold you and I will. Affection isn’t anything you need be ashamed for wanting, Mycroft.” Greg explained, feeling like he really needed Mycroft to understand this point. He walked over, still in just his pants, and grasped Mycroft in a tight hug.   
“Thank you, Gregory. It seems I have a lot to learn about being in a relationship.” Mycroft admitted, his head resting against Gregory’s.   
“That’s ok. I’ll teach you.” Greg said, humming, running his hands up Mycroft’s back. He was very much looking forward to spending a long time teaching him. It turned out that his Valentine’s Day was going to be wonderful after all… just a day late. 


End file.
